The heart is a funny thing
by Metope
Summary: Post 3x22 - A heart is many things, but there is one thing a heart is not. A heart is not invincible. A heart can be crushed, a heart can stop, a heart can break. And whether that latter condition is a permanent thing or not, depends on the heart; for as she had established already, the heart is unique. - What happens to Regina after she sees Robin and Marian reunite? -OneShot-TW


**The heart is a funny thing.**

She found the heart to be a funny thing.

As an organ it is quite impressive. It works in a complicated way, as it pumps blood through one's veins, thus indirectly giving muscles the ability to move, providing lungs with the ability to in - and exhale and giving the brain the strength to function. It _has_ to be complicated, it is the source of life, and life is not easy, she knows that for a fact.

The heart keeps you alive.

The heart also lets you _feel_. In that sense, the heart is unique. A heart can be dark or light; good or bad; big or small; healthy or sick. A heart can be caring, loving, venomous, evil, battered, worried, tired, weak or strong; and sometimes, a heart can even be resilient.

A heart thus is many things, but there is one thing a heart is not.

A heart is not invincible. A heart can be crushed, a heart can stop, a heart can _break_. And whether that latter condition is a permanent thing or not, depends on the heart; for as she had established already, the heart is unique.

A heart _can_ be mended. It depends on the cause that broke the heart, on the person to whom the heart belongs and on the glue that is used to mend it; but most of all it depends on what the heart has had to endure already.

Because the heart is not invincible. Yes, a heart can break and yes, a heart can be mended, but only so many times. And when the heart has had to endure more than it should have, the strongest of glues sometimes is not enough anymore to keep the heart together.

It takes quite a lot of effort though, to make that happen. The heart can endure a fair amount of pain. She knew that all too well. She had experienced it all too often. She was experiencing it right now...

She had managed to choke out her disbelieve, her anger, her pain and her frustration, without losing it completely, without letting any tears fall, and without slamming the blonde against the wall and kill her on the spot.

She saw the other woman regretted what had happened, oh yes, she saw it, she wasn't blind. But that didn't mean she blamed the woman any less for it; that didn't mean it _hurt_ any less. Because gods, it hurt. It was an aching pain that had stabbed her right in the chest, straight into her heart the moment she had seen them reunite in front of her, right before her eyes.

And the pain had spread when he had pressed a kiss to her hair, and then a little more when he pulled her closer into him, and then it had spread from her chest through the rest of her body as she had wordlessly looked how Roland – the little boy she had come to care about so much already in such a short time – had walked up to that woman. And it had felt as if she had been stabbed again when he had looked up to the woman his father was embracing, and had muttered an innocent, 'mama?'; And the woman, Marian, had crouched down, had scooped him up in her arms, and had leaned back into Robin again, her _husband_.

And then she had whirled around and bolted out of that godforsaken place, vowing to herself to never go there ever again. Because it was as if that place had assigned itself the quest of showing her that villains indeed couldn't have a happy ending. And it succeeded in showing her that every time she got there: It had been in that damned diner that everyone had ignored her after she had saved Snow and Emma; or when Snow had told her in the booth in the corner on the left that her mother did not lover her – and had been right; or when Henry had looked right through her; or when Zelena had proved once more that all her mother had done was lie to her, and deceive her upon finding out they were sisters; when the townspeople had immediately turned on her again, thinking that surely she must have known about that; and now, when she finally thought she had found her second chance and saw it all being taken from her just like that.

She had hoped it would have become easier, less painful, if she would leave, so she wouldn't have to witness all the happiness that was going on in the diner. So she wouldn't have to look at the Charmings and their newborn, so she wouldn't have to see Emma and her pirate, and so she wouldn't have to look at _them_.

But it didn't matter, because even though the images may not be there anymore in real life, they weren't any less real in her head, as her mind played the scene she had just witnessed, over and over again. And every time she heard him call his wife's name, and tell her how much he had missed her a surge of pain would shoot through her heart. And it cost her so much effort not to break down right there, it cost her so much effort to continue walking – for she did not think driving would be a good idea in this state – she was almost impressed at her own strength for managing to do it anyways.

In the distance she heard the door of Granny's diner open and close again, followed by quick footsteps. She didn't look around however, instead she quickened her pace. If it was Snow who was coming after her, she surely wouldn't be able to catch up with her – seeing as her body was still completely in pregnancy-mode; and if it were someone else...well, it wouldn't be someone else, for who else was there who pretended to care about her? Right, no one.

Hence her surprise when she felt a hand, slightly smaller than her own – though that would soon not be the case anymore either – slip into hers. She cocked her head to the side so he fell just within her sight, but he looked straight ahead, eyes fixed on the road; his only response being a soft squeeze in her hand.

He knew it was enough to reassure her, and it was; and she turned her head back, mirroring his posture as she fixed her eyes on the pavement in front of her. And that is how they walked the path they had walked so very often when he had been little, when he had still been hers; just hers; only hers.

And every so often his hand would squeeze hers, and for a few seconds with every squeeze she hoped the searing pain that was radiating from her heart would diminish ever so slightly, but it didn't. And she was glad they didn't speak, because she didn't trust herself; wasn't sure if she could speak even. It felt as if as long as she would stay quiet it wouldn't be real, it would be something that she had witnessed as an outsider, something that had happened to someone else, not to her.

But when they reached the house, and when she had finally gotten the key into the lock with trembling hands and a little bit of help from Henry; and when they had gotten inside and closed the door; and when she had kicked off her heels; Henry had spoken. He had turned around to face her as she was leaned against the front door and he had looked at her with his brown eyes. And his eyes had looked right into her soul, and she wondered when he had grown up so much; when he had become so wise; and then he had walked up to her, and he had grabbed both of her hands in his, his gaze never losing hers, and he had said; "You don't deserve this, mom."

And she had fallen apart. A sob had fallen from her lips, her face had contorted in a pained cry as she still tried to keep the tears at bay – failing miserably – and she had sunk to the floor, back still against the door.

And Henry had gone to sit down with her, and he had wrapped his arms around her waist, and she had leaned into him, had let her head rest on his as she cried, heart wrenching sobs escaping her. And for a moment she had thought that this was wrong, that it should always be the other way around, that a child should never have to comfort their parent. But it was only for a second, because after that all clarity of mind was swallowed again by the excruciating pain that came from her heart and coiled through her veins and was eating her alive.

And she cried, and cried. And Henry just held her, occasionally whispering to her that he was sorry, that she did not deserve this, that she was a hero, that she deserved happiness. And the gesture was sweet, as were his words, but it did not help, not anymore, as the pain was swallowing everything.

At some point, she didn't know when, and she didn't know how, she had let herself being led to her bedroom. Probably because Henry thought it would be more comfortable.

But the moment she saw the clean, freshly made bed, she started to cry even harder, and the pain became even more unbearable. For she had only changed the bed this morning, after Robin had spend the night. For the first time. And as she went to lie down she discovered a faint hint of forest smell was still there in the pillow on the right side of the bed

And even though she knew it would be pure torture, she decided to lie down on that side of the bed, on her side, with her face buried in the pillow so she could inhale his scent. And her mind instantly took her back to yesterday. When he had come over to her house. And she thought back to how they had sat downstairs in front of the couch at first with a glass of wine. Just talking, occasionally kissing. How they had shared stories, how she had told him about Daniel; how _he_ had told her about _her_; how it had taken him a long time to get over her, but that he now was sure he had done so. And she had kissed him, and she had told him that she had never thought she would have this again. And she had completely opened up to him. And she thought he had done the same. All lies. All. Lies.

And then eventually they had done more than kissing, and they had gone upstairs, and for the first time in years someone had made love to her. And it had been like nothing she had ever experienced before. Of course it was not the same as with Graham, or with any other of her bed partners, and of _course_ it wasn't even _remotely_ similar to her time with the King. But even with Daniel it hadn't been as good, as _intense_ as it had been with Robin.

Her relationship with Daniel had been young, innocent, tender whereas her connection with Robin had felt much deeper, more mature, and it had been like nothing she had ever felt before. And he had said her name over and over again, and he had even told her he _loved_ her. And she hadn´t said it back, but she had vowed to herself that she would do so soon. Well, now she wouldn´t have to.

And as she tortured herself with these thoughts, she felt her heart hurt a little more with every thought; with every memory she imagined to feel another crack appear on her battered heart. And it wasn't until she felt the bed move on the other side, and until she felt how Henry went to lie next to her, that she managed to pull herself out of that puddle of doomed thoughts. And she let go of the pillow and moved closer to her son, pulling him into her as she slipped one arm around his waist and used the hand of the other to gently stroke through his hair.

And that is how they continued to lie down, and they didn't move until her sobs had gone away, leaving only tears to fall silently down her cheeks at a rapid rate. And at some point Henry's phone had rang – he had a phone now, she guessed that made sense, he was almost thirteen after all. And it had been Emma, asking where he was. He had briskly told her he was with his _mother_, that she needed him, and apparently whatever Emma had answered to that did not please him, for he told her to leave him alone in an angry tone of voice and had hung up.

And as heartbroken as she felt, and as hard as it was for her to pay attention to anything else but her own pain right now, she was still a mother above all, so she scolded her son for talking to Emma like that. Which he protested to of course, 'but mom, she doesn't get it. None of them _gets_ it.'

And in that moment she won the award for 'the worst attempt at smiling a convincing smile while being inexplicably sad' as she tried to comfort her son while she reaching her hand up to brush a lonely tear from her son's cheek. And she had told him that he was the best son she could wish for, and that it was kind and sweet that he wanted to look out for her. But that Emma needed him, and that he should go.

And he had asked her if she would be okay. He had told her that he didn't want to leave her alone. But she had reassured him that it was alright, that he could come back later, that she would be fine.

It ended in a compromise: he would go to Emma now, and then return later that evening to come bring her dinner. She was okay with that, although she knew now already that she wouldn't want to eat anything at all.

And he had reluctantly gone, and when she had heard the front door close she had expected the pain and the hurt to increase again, to rise to an even higher level of pain and torture; for she was alone again, and Henry had gone. But that didn't happen, the pain stayed on the same level, searing through her body, eating at her like a wolf devouring its pray.

And for a moment she was confused. Henry always made things better, Henry always alleviated some of the pain, and when he would leave, the pain would always get worse, and now it didn't.

But then she understood. She understood that this time, even _Henry_ wasn't enough to heal her aching heart, even her son could not provide the glue to mend the cracks that had appeared.

For she was so tired, her heart was _so_ _tired_. It had gone through too much, she had coaxed it back to health with the promise of her son's undying love one time too many. And now it didn't work anymore. For the pain was too much, the betrayal too big, the hurt too severe.

And her heart was done letting itself being fooled.

And would she have tried to fight this in the past, she now simply found she couldn't, because she couldn't find anything to heal her heart with, there was no superglue left. She loved Henry, she loved him with all her heart, but it wasn't enough, not anymore, not now she knew – now she _remembered _– how _romantic_ love felt.

And as the pain increased, and the hurt consumed everything she didn't know what to do. And then, as she was lying there she let out a shuddered breath, one similar to all other breaths that had left her body since she had started crying. Yet after her lungs had filled themselves with air again with equal difficulty, the next breath did not leave her so relatively smoothly as the previous one, it was more of a choked breath that left her, and after that a pained one followed.

And then ever so slowly she felt a new, sharp pain invading her body, starting at the fingertips of her left hand, then slowly moving upwards from her arm to her heart. And breathing became harder and harder. And she tried to fight it at first, she tried to move her body, she tried to raise her head from her pillow thinking she might be able to see what was going on.

But it hurt too much, and the pain paralyzed her, and it became hard to think, and new flashes of her and Robin, and then of Marian and Robin, started to invade her mind again. And her breathing became ragged, and it was as if her veins transported pain instead of blood from her heart to her arm and back again.

And then, _finally_, she understood what was happening. And she forced all thoughts of Robin and Roland and Marian, and the Charmings, and the pirate and _everyone_ else out of her mind as she did. For she did not want to think of any of them right now. And as the pain got worse and worse, and breathing got harder and harder she thought she could practically hear the cracks in her heart that grew deeper and deeper. And the only one she wanted to think of was her son. Her little prince.

And as she closed her eyes and rested her head against the pillow she concentrated on her son. And it wasn't until she finally had blocked out everything else but her son, and until her mind showed him waving at her, a big grin on his face, that her heart knew it's work was done.

And while she had a serene smile on her face as she watched her son laughing at her, waving at her, her heart finally gave out.

For the heart is not invincible. It can be bend, and stomped upon, it can be toyed with, and it can break. But not too often. For the heart is not invincible. Not even the most resilient one.

**Because I am so mad about the season finale. Because they messed EVERYTHING up, and just, because this mirrors my mood today.**

**I am so sorry. Don't hate me. **

**I usually never write this kind of angst, so I do would appreciate a review, to know how I did!**

**x**

**Metope**

**ps. will become a two shot telling of the reactions of the others by popular demand :-)**


End file.
